Borealis: The Untold Aperture Story
by Yellow Optic
Summary: Aperture Archives reveals the details to one of the corporate's darkest secrets. From start to finish. A long multi-part endeavor that consumes all my effort and energy.
1. All Aboard

We had the pleasure to meet Dr. Simon Halifax, one the last surviving personnel allowed inside of section B of the Archival Database. It's been long since the vessel disappeared off the Arctic— and we want to know everything about it.

"So what's it like back then?" One member from our team asked him about the incident, "This lost ship — what's the secret behind it?"

Simon does not answer, yet in lieu, we saw him pulling open a drawer marked with the number 362, and pulled out a binder with the header "Borealis Report 1968".

"Take it," Simon hands us the file, "Back in the sixties they had documented the most they can, until—"

"Until?"

"Until they had to _sacrifice_." His face turned pale, "It's all yours. Read it somewhere else."

"You sure you don't mind?"

"If the public gets to know, it's worth it."

We extracted the 15-year old document from its protective cover. Along the first line typed in faded red ink:

"INTERNAL USE ONLY. DO NOT OPEN UNLESS AUTHORIZED."

We skipped the warning and flipped ahead. It began describing the scene.

The hydraulic vents shoots out air as the ship gets its first pair of turbines started.

An employee atop the main deck leaned on the iron railing on the deck in sailor attire. His name is Doug Rattmann. He stares aimlessly at the dark cavern that housed the ship. Below him, people dressed in white lab coats come and go. Some stock up the supplies, others used their clipboards to cut and record statistics. No one has time to stop to take a break. The voyage will launch in less than ten minutes.

Perhaps the only person who had time to wind down was him. He knew he won't be going home for at least a year, if the cruise had any issues, may be even longer. He daren't tell his mother that he will be away, who was gravely ill and paraplegic, and permanently asleep in her own bedroom. Without him, there will be no one to take care of her. He clutched the loose bolt he found in the supply room in deep regret, and squeezed a few drops of tears out of his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mother," he muttered, "I"ll get home soon."

Reportedly the CEO was going to be the captain of the ship. The beloved secretary was waiting nervously outside his office. The speaker next to the door in buzzed.

"Caroline," he coughed, "Come in here."

She fixed up her dress, and gently pushed the door in. The superior rose from his seat to greet her as she walked into the office.

"Good afternoon, sir." She said as the door closed itself.

"I guess you knew why you were supposed to be in here, so I'm not wasting my breath trying to repeat myself."

She nodded.

"Good."

He shuffled through the boxes of office supplies toward the back of the room. A few were shoved out of the way until he found an unmarked box, still sealed with tape. He places it on his desk.

"I can help with that."

She took the razor off of his pen stand, and sliced through the seal. She patted off the dust that had accumulated over the week from when this box was sent in, and opened up the box. Inside sat a folded-up sailor outfit wrapped in cellophane. A white torso piece lined with a turquoise collar and a single red cloth draped over the center. On its chest was a singular pocket with an Aperture insignia sewed above it.

"It's beautiful."

"'No time' is two words I have for you. I'll see you on the deck, with that outfit on."

Caroline ran across the pier. The ground's wet from the sea water sloshed on by the liner, and crowds of personnel made her duck and slide through while making her way to the edge of this vast indoor dock. Amber lighting harshly illuminated her journey.

She made it. The steel door gave way to a stall. She pulled off her dress, put on her shirt, gave the ribbon a tie, and hurriedly pulled up her skirt. A final touch would be a quick swipe of her hair back to her hairline. Then she rushed back to the office.

"I'm done… sir?" What she saw struck her in awe.

Her boss was dressed in a white suit with a matching cap. Black nylon stripes decorated the sides of his shirt and pants. His right sleeve had those same bars stop to encircle the Aperture logo. The left reinforced his position. Four wool chevron overlap the dark lines confirmed that he's a captain. His face brimmed with confidence, and, of course, a pinch of sarcasm.

It took his beloved secretary a full minute to absorb in how gallant his presence was.

Cave sighed after noticing her sudden admiration, "I get it, Sailor Caroline."

"Sorry."

"I wasn't punched in the face. Why apologize?"

He ran his hand on her collar as he eyed her top-to-bottom. "But you look adorable in this get-up! I wonder why didn't you ever tried going to work like this."

"Get in here, cute little sailor." He invites her for an embrace, "You're my first mate."

She closed her eyes as she tried to absorb his warmth. She smiled and relished his presence, being that close to her.

_We can do this everyday, Captain,_ she thought, _Everyday._

He pulled her away. He pulled up his sleeve to check the time.

"Five twenty-five," he says, "Let's go."

Caroline tugged on his arm as they both step out to where Borealis sat. They made their way through the waves of people when more than a few stopped to greet their CEO. A roped-off area near the edge of the ship awaited their arrival.

"Hello, Mr. Johnson," the staff tipped his hat, "And Miss Faraday."

She nodded.

"Right this way, sir."

He removes the stand to allow them up the staircase onto the deck. In the distance, an influx of different scientists aboard the vessel on the lower deck. Caroline silently watched in curiosity. Doug welcomed the pair.

"Sir, your loudspeaker, and your key to the room."

He slipped the key in his pocket, grabbed his mic in one hand, and his first mate in another.

"We'll come again soon."

The two descended down the stairs accompanied by loud clanks by the steps. The group had already seated on the deck, all within the windowed space supported by various metal pillars. He turns the mic on, and after a brief moment of reverb, he began.

"It's your damn captain, Cave Johnson. We will be moving with Borealis to the Arctic, and hopefully we can at least get some work and research done. Most of you will probably not be allowed to call me like this. However, she can."

Caroline waved to the audience, which around a third of them wore the identical clothing as she did.

"Her name is Caroline, and she will be my secretary throughout this long trek. You should all know what you should be doing on this ship, or you're immediately fired and thrown off this boat. Yes, I'm serious. Now get to work."

The group dispersed ad sent themselves off to their posts. A horn blares as the huge ship began to move. They went back upstairs, and as they stepped up, she tightened her grip on him.

"Alright, cute little sailor, let's get you warmed up."


	2. Where Science (and Love) Happens

Caroline walked across the deck, silently overseeing the staff. Clutching her clipboard, she would glance up and down, making marks on the stack of paper. In her five-minute reviewing session, there would be brief pauses for silence, in which she would gaze lovingly outside the windows and into the seas, watching the waves splash against the vessel, and for a moment forgetting about her duty altogether. Then the sounds of magnesium strips fizzling in a tube, pure potassium ingots sparking while gliding on the surface of bowls of water, and her flat shoes clanking against the wooden floor would return, snapping her back to reality.

"Finally," she sighed with relief, "Thank you, Aperture."

Her statement grabbed the attention of one of her subordinates.

"Oh, hey, Miss Faraday," a young woman with blonde hair turns to meet her supervisor, "I was just messing around with the various alloys that involve Chromium."

"Chronium." She smiled in wild fascination, "Like stainless steel!"

"Rightfully so, madam," The scientist opens a hatch on her workbench, which reveals a piping-hot foundry beneath. She then poured a batch of iron blocks down the shaft, and closed the lid.

Caroline looks at the lid in confusion. From her twenty years being in the field, she knew it wasn't going to work. She just don't have the courage to tell her, yet she's curious as to what will actually happen. Somewhere in her staff's flawed experiment found a surge of happiness and innocence she had shared with her father, back when they used to do little experiments together, one fragment of her memory that inspired her to join them, and to be standing here today.

"Tell me when it's done."

"Yes, ma'am."

She moved along the deck to take even more notes. A team is frantically soldering parts together. So far the only piece that had been completed was a black tube. The frenzied group had helmets and face shields which reflected sparks that had been emitted from the fusing of components. It will take an another three minutes for them to complete the outer shell.

She grabbed a fold-chair and watched. Occasionally someone would pick the prototype up and wave it around in marvel, then the others would snatch it back, fearing that the unfinished product would collapse. She dare not move, wanting to witness the assembly this mysterious device. Finally, the team fitted it together.

She stood up to see it. It resembled a backpack, while an aluminum-bound hose extends out of the bottom of the machine. The iron box attached to the straps and hose occasional rocks with the generators within, and with a flick of the switch along the base, it began to shake and whirr.

"It's working!" A scientist yelled in excitement. They then had high-fives with one another, until they noticed the secretary studying the invention in the background.

"Would you like to see it, Miss Faraday?" Asked the same scientist, "I think you may like it."

Two of them helped her with putting the straps on her shoulders. They gave them the hose, which they call a "Universal Wormhole Director". The machine shakes on her back, and so does her hands on the handles of the device.

"Madam," The scientist guides her sight to a grey board stood up next to the column, "Your index finger is right on the trigger. Aim the director at the wall, and pull the trigger."

"Wait— what does it do?"

"Give it a shot first."

She fired a shot. Any similar device before this would have fired bullets or rockets, yet this shot blasts out a stream of plasma. It immediately slammed against the material, rapidly expanding into an oval with a spinning edge, with the interior dancing with waves of colors.

"What's this?" Caroline responded.

"It's called a portal. Like a rift in time and space. A wormhole, to be exact."

"You mean, instantaneous spatial travel?"

"Precise, Miss Faraday. Go ahead and fire another portal."

She took aim at the other grey panel at the opposite far end of the ship, and pushed on the trigger. This shot took slightly longer to hit the wall, and when it did, it formed a similar oval, only this time, an image of herself, holding the device in her hands.

"Is this—"

She turned back to the panel. The original portal also now displayed an image, one that depicted her facing away, looking through the portal that sent her this very image. Her mouth widened._ It wasn__'__t possible_, she thought. _You can__'__t build a wormhole._

"Try reaching in. We will need to know whether the 'travel' part works or not."

She reluctantly detached her left hand from the gun, and reached into the portal. Surprisingly, it went through the portal door. She turned to check if her hand did warp to the opposite wall. It was. The same hand sprung out of the opposite portal, shaking nervously. A truth that's undeniable.

"Yes!" The team's celebrations were in full swing, yet she manufactured no attention to them.

She took off. She dashed through the benches of work and experiments and found the stairs. She made it up to the Upper Deck and pushed the door to the office open, scaring her boss.

"Woah, woah, woah," Cave Johnson glared at his secretary, "What's wrong?"

"They built it," she panted, "The wormhole device is working."

"I'll go see."

They both rushed down the stairs. When they got down, the team had already been waiting for their arrival. The very same staff introduced the magical device to him.

"Mr. Johnson, I bet you have already heard from her about this."

"I wouldn't be here if I haven't."

"Right."

He demonstrated the device to his superior. He watched as Cave laughed sarcastically at some points he makes, yet he continued anyway.

"Box it up and push it to our investors," Cave concluded, "Then we can talk more about this 'wormhole thing'. Caroline, remind me to give a crap about him. Get the clipboard, mark it down."

"Yes, sir."

He left the scene with her trailing him. As they returned to their office, she began to cling onto his arm, and he enjoyed her company.

"You like the thing?" He asked as he gently stroked her hair, "If you do, I can add a few bucks to the little pool of money we call 'funding'."

"Yeah," She leaned closer to him, "I love it personally. Whatever your decision is, I'll support it."

"Huh, really?"

"I promise."

They got to the door. He gave her a heartfelt, almost impulsive embrace. He loved her dearly, and she will always be deserved to treat well.

"Thank you, Caroline."

"Thank you, sir. For everything."

He released her, and looked down at her eyes. It's a brilliant shade of hazel. Her hair flew as the winds blew across, and so does the collar on her outfit.

"You're adorable, you know that?"

A surge of dopamine hit her. She blushed uncontrollably, and turned away shyly.

"Don't tell me that," she smiled, "You're spoiling me."

"You need to hear that. You're too important to ignore."

"I'll work for free. I just want to work for you."

He closed in for a light kiss. She loved it.

"It's time," he said, "Let's head inside."

She took his hand, and they walked in.


	3. A Boost to Go Forward

The glass of water was sloshing in his trembling hands. Douglas had a blank stare outside the cabin. Meals were being given out, yet he wasn't in the mood to eat.

Everything else was a blur for him. The seemingly endless chatter of his co-workers en route to their tables. The meals wrapped in aluminum boxes, which contain nothing but a heavy ration of gravies potatoes. The various groups of people who would occasionally share a table with him, then quickly leave. None of this was of his interest.

"Hey— you feeling down?" A friend of his sat down beside him.

He nodded silently.

"Your telegram, sir," the bellboy alerted him.

He snatched the card out of his hand. If there's anything that could get him up to speed.

"My dearest son," the card read, "I have recently been sent a dispatch of paramedics to my house and sent to a nearby hospital. A few nurses are taking care of me now. It hurts to speak, but this is the only way I can convince the doctor to wire you. Your friend told me about your excursion with the science company, and he has told me about you and you may be gone for a long time. It's fine— no need to care about my condition. I'm sure I can wait until you return. Drop by the clinic near the Cross to find me when you come back. Love, Your Mother."

He tightly clutched the card, and walked away. He can see a circle of staff glamouring over their creations, displayed loosely on the table. The tungsten bulbs reflected off of the case with the spot moving left and right, indicating its sway from the waves.

He left the hall, and down a further staircase into the bottom hull of the vessel. Posters satirically warning him of safety issues decorated the wooden walls. Quantities of devious chemicals scattered in wooden crates around the area. Abandoned scraps of paper and loose matches are littered among the floor. The low drone of the constantly-spinning generator. There was very little light in the sealed cabin, so he took a lantern with him near the entrance. The only light source was from a semi-shut door hinge attached to a tiny room, shining an amber light to illuminate some of the supply boxes. Laughing was heard from inside the small cubicle. He ran to the door, and pushed it open.

Four figures emerged. Faces flushed red, they spoke with slurred speech, and occasionally bursting into rabid laughter. Empty beer bottles are all left on the ground as they laughingly stare at their hand of cards, joking with one another about tells. One of them notice him.

"Oh hey, fella," he drops his hand, "What're you doing wanderin' around in here?"

"Oh yeah," another one spoke up, "He's one of the s- s- whatever. How you doing?"

He stared intently at the four drunk men.

"I need access to that steel door." He points at the iron door behind them.

"Why not?" Said another as he hurls the ring of keys into the air.

Another sitting right opposite of him catches it. They roared with laughter.

"If you think that these keys will be going anywhere near your fingers, than I'm sorry," he says as the key ring get swung between his fingers, "It won't happen."

Doug flips the table in rage. "Enough" is only one word from his silent statement.

"Hey, hey, hey!" The four rose from their seats. One of them smashes a bottle against the ground and held it against his neck. "Shut the door, J."

The door behind him slammed shut.

He continued to press the makeshift blade against his neck.

"You dare mess with me, huh? How brave."

He shook his head in desperation.

"I've had enough of you."

It was at this time, that the door behind him rang three knocks.

Now that I think of it, what a plot convenience that was. Oh well, it's for one of the main characters.

He released his broken bottle on him.

"Open the door." He growled.

The door swung open. It was the girl he had serviced earlier. Caroline.

"I heard a huge racket from downstairs when I'm busy. What's going on?"

He immediately dropped his bottle. "Nothing, ma'am. We were just messing around with him. He's a nice guy, right?" He tapped Doug's shoulder, trying to get some recognition to his fact.

He shook his head while sweat covered his entire face.

"Well, I did hear that you have a request to them. Am I right?" The secretary asked.

He nodded, and spoke up again.

"I need the keys to that metal back door over there."

They tossed him the key.

She followed him into the back room. He did not forget to pick up the card he dropped en route.

"Thanks!" She waved to them.

The iron door crept open. As they entered, the light lit themselves up, and the huge control panel atop a steel top illuminates its buttons. The button marked "Auto-Pilot" flashes white, and he promptly turned it off.

He invites her to a seat. A button lights up the massive displays above the controls.

"You okay?" She examined his neck, "I hope that they didn't cut you."

He nodded in response. A lever was pulled, and the ship rocked a little more. He opened a little drawer, and gently placed the card into it.

"Ma'am, we should be close."

The radar detected their first sheet of ice. He engaged the blades.

"I'll go issue some protocols now. Excuse me."

He stared at her exit. Little did he know what was going to entail.

Caroline grabbed a box of the same meals, and headed upstairs.

"Sir, they turned on the blades."

"Both?"

"No, just Rattmann himself. Some of the other guys have been causing him trouble."

"Mm hmm. I'll go look after what's going on," he exhaled, "Go ahead and eat first if you like."

She opened the tin as he left the room to investigate.


	4. Undiscovered Element

Caroline sliced the piece of chicken open, and stabbed it with a fork. The texture was nothing spectacular, and all she cares was a little dabble of tomato paste on her cheek.

Her captain wiped it away for her.

"You know, I really enjoyed sharing a meal with you like this."

She glanced at the extra plate, stained with ketchup and stray strains of pasta. She gave her fork a twirl.

"Aw, thanks," she took a bite, "I almost forgot."

She placed her clipboard on the table.

"Hm." He dropped his fork.

He gave it a look. The clipboard snapped a report entitled "An Outlook of Borealis — by Caroline Faraday".

"You wrote this?" He asked as he examined the paper itself.

"Mm hmm." She replied as she tugged her ribbon tight.

"All I am allowed to say is 'nicely done'," he smirks, "Or else they are not going to be happy. I liked it though."

He smiled and nodded as he flipped it to the back and signed it for approval.

"Thanks," she blushed, "Have you seen this vial?"

"What vial?"

"This."

She unbuttoned her collar and retrieved a small bottle containing a silvery liquid from her shirt pocket in her sailor outfit. She shook it in front of him, which sloshed the liquid around and caused the glass to glow red momentarily.

"Is it safe?"

"It is safe, sir. It just has really weird properties."

It solidified into a bouncy gel and stuck itself on the bottom of the bottle.

"Hold on," her superior stood up, "Isn't that radioactive? Why the hell is it glowing—"

"They tested it before. It's not."

"Any chance an alloy?'

"The electronic pattern's regular."

"Then what's the name of this?"

"They haven't gave it one yet, sir."

"Well, we need a master of naming these new damn things," he rose from his seat, "Or we'll have no time for actual science."

He takes the bottle.

"Malleable like aluminum, fluid like mercury, durable like steel. What should we name it, sir?"

"Carolinium."

His secretary blushed.

"Pull it together, team!"

A band of researchers unloaded crates of chemical compounds onto the ice sheets.

"Do we need Sample 6?" One of them hollered back to the deck.

"No, just drop those 17 crates."

Doug took a quick break and looked up. The sun that will not set for another six months. The endless supply of ice and freezing water that forms moats around them. The gentle whirring of the motors that stirred around the ice, as if the ocean is a giant chamber blender. The long strip of smashed-up ice pieces form a trail behind the vessel.

"Hey! Work it!"

He snapped back to reality, realizing that his task is not quite done yet. He hauled another crate from the containers. It slammed onto the surface.

In the distance another team is drilling through the ice. A tube is lowered down beneath the water. Then a cheer, some loud chat, and high-fives for their efforts.

The boxes were unscrewed, dismantled, and their contents extracted. Another group hauled bricks, paint, and other building materials to a site and began building their base.

This is it. They are staying here for a while.

The ship behind him released a louder drone as the first mate descended the now hydraulic-powered stairs. She wore a thick jacket to protect herself from the cold. Her heels has been replaced by a pair of brown fuzzy shoes.

"Hey," she greeted one of the men who's on break sitting on the stray pallets, "I think we got a conclusion on this element."

"This?" He stared at the metal in disbelief, "Ma'am, this is only about 1500 milligrams. We have a batch of around sixty-two thousand more."

"If I can have some more, please?" She puffed a breath in the freezing air, "I wanted to test this out."

"You got it. If you want more," he sips his canteen filled with cocoa, "They found the deposit around the area."

He puts down his thermos bottle, then headed back to the ship. When he returned, he gave her a test tube containing more of the element named after herself.

"There you go."

"Thank you. Good luck with the project!"

Rattmann looked on as Caroline played around with the tube. He turned away and walked up to the constructors.

The thump of the materials hitting the ground accompanied by the fresh pull-off of paint cans. Purple adhesion gels added to the reinforcement that kept the igloos together. Lights were connected and thick blinds were installed for the interior. Wooden tables were moved inside, and heavy duty waterproof doors sealed the rooms.

Caroline placed the tube aside and shook hands with the coordinator.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Kaiser."

"That's what I should be doing, Miss Faraday."

"I'll go notify my superior. Thank you again!"

"Absolutely."

The coordinator walked back to the camp, laughing and jokingly with his coordinates.

He looked over to the leftover test tube filled with the new element, and picked it up. He gave it a glance around him, and when he made sure no one noticed, he placed it in his shirt pocket.

"I'll save it for you."

A sharp pain hit his left leg. Out of desperation, he snatched out a prescription of his painkillers, and forced himself to swallow it. He then scooped a mouthful of the arctic waters to wash the pill down. He slumped over the ice floor, shaking from the cold, then stared motionless at the sky.

"Deep cruelty. Everyone."

He remained on the ground. Everyone else was busy, and they all had a purpose. And to him, he would not matter at all. Fifteen years ago he would have thought that someone would have came to his rescue and put him out of the misery.

No one ever will. Not even her. He knew it. All of them lived through the continuous downward slope that is the company. The Senate hearings. The consumer market commercial failure of the gels. The safety assessment results that warded potential investors off of their projects. Yet everyone else kept their morale. Their desire to go forward. Had him once thought that he may achieve the same?

"I can't…"

His medication would later knock him out.


End file.
